


It's A Terrible Life (4.17)

by ackles_ass_equation



Series: Superghetto [77]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Acting in Unison, Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Drugs, Ghostfacers - Freeform, Ghosts, Salt, Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc., angel lore, iron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 21:59:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8684977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ackles_ass_equation/pseuds/ackles_ass_equation
Summary: Dean n' Sam now lead ordinary lives. Dean works up in tha corporate ghetto all up in tha Sandover Bridge & Iron Company along wit Sam whoz ass works as a Tech Support. Both have no clue whoz ass tha other is until they colleagues start cappin' theyselves.





	1. NOW

_INT. BEDROOM – DAY_

An alarm clock flips from 5:59 ta 6:00 n' starts beepin fo' realz. A hand shuts it off.

 **MUSIC  
** 'Cause he gets up in tha morning

_INT. KITCHEN – DAY_

A fruity-ass malt liquor cup bein filled from a espresso machine.

 **MUSIC  
** And he goes ta work at nine

Da cup is held by DEAN, whoz ass is up in bidnizz dress wit his afro slicked down.

 **MUSIC**  
And his schmoooove ass comes back home at five-thirty  
Gets tha same ol' dirty train every last muthafuckin time  
'Cause his ghetto is built 'round punctuality

_EXT. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. STREET – DAY_

**MUSIC  
** And it never fails

DEAN crosses tha street ta a silver Toyota Prius.

 **MUSIC  
** And he oh so good

_INT. PRIUS – DAY_

DEAN starts tha car.

 **MUSIC  
** And he oh—

Rock noize blares. DEAN looks at it, confused, n' chizzlez tha station.

 **RADIO  
** NPR Mornin Edition. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. It aint nuthin but time fo' dis waste and—

_EXT. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. STREET – DAY_

DEAN drives off up in tha Prius.

 **MUSIC**  
Dat punk a well-respected playa bout town  
Bustin tha dopest thangs so conservatively

_EXT. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. SKYSCRAPER – DAY_

_INT. LOBBY – DAY_

DEAN gets outta tha elevator n' crosses tha lobby. Therez a Sandover Bridge & Iron history display along one wall.

 **MUSIC**  
And he likes his own back yard  
And he likes his wild lil' fags tha best  
'Cause his thugged-out lil' punk-ass betta than tha rest  
And his own sweat smells tha best

DEAN entas a crib labeled "DEAN SMITH—Director, Salez & Marketing".

 **MUSIC**  
And dat schmoooove muthafucka hopes ta grab his wild lil' fatherz loot  
When Pata passes on

_INT. DEAN'S OFFICE – DAY_

DEAN types at a cold-ass lil computer.

 **MUSIC**  
'Cause he oh so good  
And he oh so fine

DEAN laughs tha fuck into a funky-ass beeper headset.

Cut ta a cold-ass lil conversation wit SOMEONE now up in DEANz crib.

 **DEAN  
** All I wanna know is when is they gonna have another show like  _Project Runway_ , biatch? Man.

 **MUSIC**  
And he oh so healthy  
In his body n' his crazy-ass mind

DEAN flips his cold-ass tie over his shoulder n' smokes a salad.

 **MUSIC**  
Dat punk a well-respected playa bout town  
Bustin tha dopest thangs so conservatively

DEAN is standin n' bustin lyrics tha fuck into tha headset.

 **DEAN  
** Net profitabilitizzle aside, itz tha client-retention rate dat concerns me vis-à-vis maximizin return on sales. Buzz me back once you've peeped tha spreadsheets.

Another SOMEONE entas tha crib.

 **DEAN  
** Mista Muthafuckin fo' realz. Adler.

 **ADLER  
** Dean.

ADLER slaps DEAN on tha shoulder.

 **ADLER  
** Dope stuff.

 **DEAN  
** Dope stuff?

 **ADLER  
** Big thangs. Dope stuff.

 **DEAN  
** Dope stuff.

_INT. DEAN'S OFFICE – NIGHT_

DEAN is chillin at his fuckin lil' desk playin wit suttin' n' bustin lyrics tha fuck into tha headset.

 **DEAN  
** Oh I hear you, biatch. Fuck dat shit, I aint been ta tha toilet up in ages. Carryin a lil bloat round mah dirty ass. It aint nuthin but a sedentary gamestyle, mah dude, no two ways. —All right, tell me one mo' time. Yo ass holla'd lemon and—what was it, biatch? Cayenne n' maple syrup, is you trippin like a muthafucka, biatch? How tha fuck much did you lose?

DEAN puts some filez up in a cold-ass lil case n' leaves tha crib.

 **MUSIC**  
Dat punk a well-respected playa bout town  
Bustin tha dopest thangs so conservatively

_INT. OFFICE LOBBY – NIGHT_

DEAN is checkin his thugged-out lil' phone. Da elevator dings. DEAN enters, focused on tha phone yo. Dude looks over all up in tha other occupant of tha elevator, whoz ass is starin at him; itz SAM, whoz bustin a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass short-sleeved hoodie dat say "Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc. Tech Support".

 **SAM  
** Do I know yo slick ass?

 **DEAN  
** I don't be thinkin so.

 **SAM  
** I be sorry, dude, you just look straight-up familiar.

 **DEAN  
** Save it fo' tha game club, pal.

Da elevator dings again n' again n' again n' DEAN gets out. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. SAM stares afta his muthafuckin ass.

 


	2. Act One

_INT. CUBICLE FARM – DAY_

A printa whirs n' spits up a paper n' shiznit fo' realz. A fax machine whirs n' sucks up in papers fo' realz. An automatic pencil sharpener whirs fo' realz. A beeper rings. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. SAM presses a funky-ass button on tha beeper n' talks tha fuck into a headset.

 **SAM  
** Tech support, dis is Sam Wesson. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Okay. Uh, well, did you try turnin it off n' then on?

SAM pokes at a vampire bobblehead.

 **SAM  
** Okay, go ahead n' turn it off. No no no, just, just off fo' realz. All right, give it a second. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Turn it back on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Okay, is it printin now, biatch? Great fo' realz. Anytime.

SAM takes off tha headset n' presses a funky-ass button on tha phone fo' realz. A MAN at a cold-ass lil cubicle behind SAM, tha only one up in tha room whoz ass aint bustin tha yellow uniform shirt, rolls his chair over ta SAM.

 **MAN  
** Hey.

 **SAM  
** Yo.

 **MAN  
** What do you be thinkin of Mimi?

SAM looks over n' shrugs.

 **SAM  
** Dat hoe aiiight.

 **MAN  
** Might gotta hit that.

 **SAM  
** Oh, dude, thatz straight-up age-inappropriate.

 **MAN  
** Experience.

 **SAM  
** Trifocals.

 **MAN  
** Therez a MILF there, Sam. I just know dat shit. Maybe a GMILF.

 **SAM  
** Come on.

 **MAN  
** Coffee break?

 **SAM  
** Yeah, fo' sure.

SAM n' tha MAN git up. They pass ANOTHER MAN at his cubicle.

 **MAN  
** Paul. Time fo' a refuel, dawg.

 **PAUL  
** Sorry, no time.

 **MAN  
** Since when, biatch? Dude, we git paid by tha hour.

 **PAUL  
** Working.

 **MAN  
** Okay.

 **SAM  
** Dude seems stressed.

 **MAN  
** Freaked cuz he gots busted surfin porn on tha Internet.

 **SAM  
** Fuck dat shit, no, no way. When?

 **MAN  
** Got busted up ta HR yesterday. It make me wanna hollar playa! Guess they put tha fear of Dogg up in his muthafuckin ass.

_INT. BREAK ROOM – DAY_

Da microwave dings n' one of mah thugs takes up a ounce ta tha bounce of popcorn n' leaves. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. SAM headz fo' tha coffeepot. Da MAN goes ta a supply cabinet n' starts pocketin packetz of pencils.

 **SAM  
** Ian, dude.

 **IAN  
** Just bustin a lil hustlin. Hustlin low at home.

SAM handz IAN a cold-ass lil cup of coffee.

 **IAN  
** So, Sam, had any of dem trips lately?

SAM turns away.

 **IAN  
** What, biatch? Don't be like dis shit. Come on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. It aint nuthin but tha highlight of mah day.

 **SAM  
** I never should have holla'd at you up in tha straight-up original gangsta place.

 **IAN  
** They're smart-ass . Don't hold up on me, dude. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Smoke up wit tha class.

 **SAM  
** Yo ass is just gonna be a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dick bout dat shit.

 **IAN  
** What, biatch? No way. I won't say shit. Total respect. Go.

 **SAM  
** I dreamt dat I saved a Grim Reaper named Tessa from demons.

IAN bursts up laughing. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. SAM looks away n' sighs.

 **IAN  
** Classic! How tha fuck much D&D did you play when you was a kid, biatch? Oh, my—okay, so you—rescuin tha Grim Reaper n' shit. That's—yo ass be a hero. I mean, give props ta Dogg we gots Harry Potta here ta save our asses all from tha apocalypse.

 **SAM  
** Dick.

 **IAN  
** Wizard.

_INT. CUBICLE FARM – DAY_

A printa whirs n' spits up a paper n' shiznit fo' realz. A fax machine whirs n' sucks up in papers fo' realz. An automatic pencil sharpener whirs. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. SAM is back up in his cubicle, fillin up a gangbangin' form on a cold-ass lil clipboard. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude yawns n' props his head on his hand, closin his wild lil' fuckin eyes.

A montage of scenes: SAM up in a gangbangin' fight, SAM cappin' a DEMON, SAM n' DEAN blastin a striga, SAM dispellin a Acheri, DEAN stakin n' decapitatin a vampire—SAM wakes up in his cubicle n' looks around.

_INT. ELEVATOR_

SAM entas tha elevator. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. DEAN n' all dem others is there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. SAM tries not ta stare at DEAN while tha elevator whirs. Ding: mah playas but SAM n' DEAN gets out. Da elevator closes.

 **SAM  
** Can I ask you a question?

 **DEAN  
** Look, dude, I holla'd at you, I aint tha fuck into the, uh—

 **SAM  
** Oh dude, come on, I aint either n' shit. I just wanna ask you one question.

DEAN looks around; there be a no escape.

 **DEAN  
** Sure.

 **SAM  
** What do you be thinkin bout pimps?

 **DEAN  
** Ghosts?

 **SAM  
** Do you believe up in them?

DEAN laughs.

 **DEAN  
** Uh, rap tha real deal, I've never given it much thought.

 **SAM  
** Vampires?

 **DEAN  
** What, biatch? Why?

 **SAM  
** Because I've been havin some weird trips lately. Yo ass know what tha fuck I mean?

 **DEAN  
** No. Not straight-up.

 **SAM  
** So you've never had any...weird dreams?

 **DEAN  
** All right, look, dude, I don't give a fuck you, aiiight, biatch? But I'ma do a hood steez and, uh, let you know that—that you overshare.

DEAN presses a gangbangin' floor button. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da elevator dings n' DEAN leaves.

_INT. CUBICLE FARM – DAY_

A printa whirs n' spits up a paper n' shiznit fo' realz. A fax machine whirs n' sucks up in papers fo' realz. An automatic pencil sharpener whirs. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. SAM be again n' again n' again up in his cubicle addressin his headset.

 **SAM  
** Did yo dirty ass turn it off, then on?

SAM is drawin vampires on a pad of paper.

 **SAM  
** All right, well, letz try dis shit. Fuck dat shit, no, itz fine, I be bout ta wait.

SAM pulls up a search engine on his computer, looks both ways, n' types up in 'vampires' yo. Dude clicks ta image search n' glances over tha picturez of Dracula wannabes.

 **SAM  
** Is it printin now, biatch? Oh, thatz pimped out fo' realz. Anytime.

 **IAN  
** Whatcha bustin?

SAM minimizes tha search engine n' hides tha sketches, then turns ta IAN, bobbin his head. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! IAN is still tha only one not bustin tha yellow shirt.

 **SAM  
** Nothing.

 **IAN  
** Yo ass git a email from Human Resources?

 **SAM  
** No. Why?

 **IAN  
** Damn dat shit. Guess itz just me, then. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I be supposed to, quote, report ta HR, unquote.

 **SAM  
** They're probably finally bustin you fo' snakin all dem crib supplies.

 **IAN  
** I hope they spank mah dirty ass.

IAN laughs, shoves his chair back ta his cubicle, n' leaves. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. SAM returns ta his search engine.

 **PAUL  
** No no no no no no. Come on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Don't do dis ta mah dirty ass. Please.

SAM minimizes tha window, takes off his headset, n' standz up ta lean over PAULz cubicle.

 **SAM  
** Yo, dude, you aiiight?

 **PAUL  
** It froze.

 **SAM  
** They're crap, Paul. They freeze all tha time.

 **PAUL  
** Yo ass don't understand. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! When I, when I rebooted, every last muthafuckin thang was gone fo' realz. A whole dayz work deleted.

 **SAM  
** Well, did you back up?

 **PAUL  
** Fuck dat shit, I didn't back up. I wish ta Dogg I backed up but I didn't. I be bout ta git it back. I be bout ta find dat shit. It aint nuthin but somewhere, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. I be bout ta find dat shit.

 **SAM  
** Paul, itz all gravy, man. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. These thangs happen.

_INT. CUBICLE FARM – NIGHT_

Da room is dark n' empty except fo' PAULz cubicle.

 **PAUL  
** Come on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Come on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Come on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Come on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Please. Please.

Da screen displays "ERROR: No Filez Found".

 **PAUL  
** All dat work. Gone. Failed.

PAULz breath is briefly visible. PAUL gets up n' strutts ta tha break room yo. Dude breaks tha tines off two plastic forks, opens tha microwave, sticks tha forks up in where tha door latches, entas 10:00 on tha timer, sticks his head in, n' presses start. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Smoke n' screams. Boy it's gettin hot, yes indeed it is. Cut ta black; tha microwave dings.

 


	3. Act Two

_INT. CUBICLE FARM – DAY_

Muthafuckas up in coroner tracksuits roll a funky-ass body bag past. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. SAM watches n' sighs. DEAN n' nuff muthafuckin other people, some up in suits n' some up in tha yellow shirts, also watch. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. SAM n' DEAN notice each other n' shit. DEAN addresses another SUIT.

 **DEAN  
** Somethang bout dis seem not right ta yo slick ass?

 **SUIT  
** Uh, yeah, try tha whole thang. I be spittin some lyrics ta you, dude, I be bout ta never smoke popcorn again.

 **DEAN  
** Yeah, right.

_INT. DEAN'S OFFICE – DAY_

DEAN be at his computer, accessin tha Sandover personnel file fo' Pizzle Dunbar. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Well shiiiit, it say his bangin retirement jam was supposed ta be up in two weeks.

 **DEAN  
** Two weeks?

_INT. CUBICLE FARM – DAY_

SAM rolls his chair over ta IANz cubicle. IAN is bustin tha yellow hoodie fo' tha last time n' hustlin busily.

 **SAM  
** Hey. Why would one of mah thugs bust a cap up in theyselves two weeks before they was supposed ta retire, biatch? I mean, Pizzle was two weeks from freedom yo. Dude should done been happy, right?

 **IAN  
** I aint gots time fo' this, Sam.

SAM laughs.

 **SAM  
** Thatz straight-up funky.

SAM notices IANz hoodie n' attitude.

 **SAM  
** Whatz wit yo slick ass?

 **IAN  
** I be working. It aint nuthin but blingin.

 **SAM  
** HR bust yo' balls or something, biatch? Yo ass is bustin tha shirt. Did yo dirty ass shave?

A beeper rings.

 **IAN  
** Tech support, dis is Ian. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Be right up. Gotta go up ta twenty-two, drop a rhyme ta a manager.

IAN takes off tha headset n' leaves.

_INT. DEAN'S OFFICE – DAY_

IAN knocks all up in tha open door. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. DEAN looks up from his computer.

 **DEAN  
** Yo! Ian, is it, biatch? Yeah, come on in. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Yesterdizzle you filled up a 445-T n' no problem, just all dem errors when our phat asses did yo' switch over ta Vista. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So I be shizzle you used ta fillin up tha dash-R's, is I right?

 **IAN  
** Oh, no.

 **DEAN  
** No no no. It aint nuthin but fine. It aint nuthin but fine. I just need you ta redo one todizzle so I can git tha show on tha road wit tha invoicing.

DEAN pushes a paper over tha desk n' smiles. IAN looks at it, terrified.

 **IAN  
** Oh mah god.

 **DEAN  
** Fuck dat shit, itz fine. Just refile it n' we square.

 **IAN  
** I can't believe I did this.

DEAN begins ta notice somethingz wrong.

 **IAN  
** I can't believe I—I can't believe I did this.

 **DEAN  
** Yo, muthafucka, come on.

 **IAN  
** Fuck dat shit, no. Well shiiiit, it affected profits, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. It—I screwed up. I—I can't—I can't—I be so sorry bout dat bullshit. I—how could I do that, biatch? I failed Sandover n' shit. I failed tha company.

 **DEAN  
** All right, why don't you sit tha fuck down, Ian?

 **IAN  
** No.

IAN runs outta tha room.

 **DEAN  
** Ian, biatch? Ian. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Hey.

DEAN bigs up his muthafuckin ass.

_INT. BATHROOM – DAY_

DEAN entas tha bathroom.

 **DEAN  
** Ian, hey. Just chill out, man. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Okay?

IAN is starin tha fuck into a mirror. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. DEANz breath is briefly visible fo' realz. All tha faucets come on even though IAN n' DEAN is tha only ones up in tha room; all tha soap dispensers, like a muthafucka.

 **DEAN  
** Ian, hey, maybe we should git outta here, huh, biatch? Come on. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Ian. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Look all up in mah face.

IAN turns toward DEAN n' pulls a pencil outta his thugged-out lil' pocket. IAN stares at DEAN fo' a moment, then stabs his dirty ass up in tha neck. DEAN stares all up in tha spout of blood n' rushes forward as IAN collapses. DEAN looks up n' sees a OLD MAN up in tha mirror, then turns round n' no onez there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. IAN goes still.

 **DEAN  
** Some Muthafucka help me!

_INT. CORRIDOR – DAY_

**DEAN  
** Fuck dat shit, I, I followed his ass tha fuck into tha bathroom.

Da coroner playas roll a funky-ass body bag past, again n' again n' again wit a crew. DEAN is poppin' off ta a five-o fool.

 **DEAN  
** Dude was, uh—he was standin there up in front of tha mirror, n' then—

DEAN sees SAM n' stops.

 **OFFICER  
** Continue. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Sir.

 **DEAN  
** And he jabbed his dirty ass up in tha neck. I be sorry, that's, um...

_INT. CUBICLE FARM – DAY_

_INT. CUBICLE FARM – DAY_

A printa whirs n' spits up a paper n' shiznit fo' realz. A fax machine whirs n' sucks up in papers fo' realz. An automatic pencil sharpener whirs fo' realz. A beeper rings. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. SAM lyrics tha phone.

 **SAM  
** Tech support, dis is Sam.

 **DEAN  
** I need ta peep you up in mah crib. Now.

SAM hangs up.

_INT. DEAN'S OFFICE – DAY_

DEAN buttons up a gangbangin' fresh shirt yo. Dude looks up at a knock.

 **DEAN  
** Come on in. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Shut tha door.

SAM closes tha door behind his dirty ass.

 **DEAN  
** Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! Who tha fuck tha hell is yo slick ass?

 **SAM  
** I aint shizzle I know.

 **DEAN  
** What tha hell do dat mean?

 **SAM  
** Sam Wesson. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I started here three weeks ago.

 **DEAN  
** All right. Yo ass cornered mah crazy ass up in tha elevator poppin' off bout pimps fo' realz. And now, nahmeean?..

 **SAM  
** Now what?

**A pause.**

**DEAN  
** Now nothing. I, uh...so you started hustlin here three weeks ago, huh?

SAM nods.

 **DEAN  
** Yeah, me like a muthafucka.

DEAN unscrews tha top of a funky-ass bottle.

 **DEAN  
** It aint nuthin but tha Masta Cleanse. Yo ass tried it, biatch? Phenomenal. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Detoxes you like no muthafuckaz bidnizz.

DEAN drinks.

 **SAM  
** When you was up in dat bathroom wit Ian, did you peep something?

 **DEAN  
** I don't give a gangbangin' fuck. I don't give a fuck what tha fuck I saw.

 **SAM  
** Wait. Is you sayin that—did you peep a pimp?

 **DEAN  
** I was freakin out. Da muthafucka penciled his fuckin lil' damn neck.

 **SAM  
** Yo ass did, didn't yo slick ass, biatch? Okay, listen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. What if these suicides aren't suicides, biatch? I mean, what tha fuck if they suttin' not natural?

 **DEAN  
** So, what, pimps is real, biatch? And they responsible fo' all tha dead bodies round here, biatch? Is dat what tha fuck you spittin some lyrics ta me son?

DEAN n' SAM finally sit tha fuck down, up in unison.

 **SAM  
** I know it soundz crazy. But yes. Thatz what tha fuck I be spittin some lyrics ta you, biatch.

 **DEAN  
** Uh-huh. Based on what?

SAM looks fo' a answer.

 **SAM  
** Instinct.

DEAN looks down, bobbin his head, then back up.

 **DEAN  
** I've gots tha same instinct.

 **SAM  
** Seriously, biatch? Yo ass know dem trips I was spittin some lyrics ta you about, biatch? I was trippin bout pimps.

 **DEAN  
** Yeah.

 **SAM  
** And then it turns up dat there be a a real pimp.

 **DEAN  
** So you spittin some lyrics ta me dat yo' trips is special visions n' you some kind of psycho?

 **SAM  
** No. I mean, dat would be nuts, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. I be just sayin suttin' weird is definitely goin on round here, right, biatch? So I've been diggin round a lil.

SAM pulls papers outta his bag.

 **SAM  
** I be thinkin I found a cold-ass lil connection between tha two muthafuckas.

SAM passes over tha papers. DEAN looks at dem wild-ass muthafuckas.

 **DEAN  
** Yo ass broke tha fuck into they email accounts?

 **SAM  
** I used some game dat I happen ta gotta satisfy mah curiosity.

 **DEAN  
** Nice.

 **SAM  
** Yeah. Okay. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So it turns up Ian n' Pizzle both gots dis same email spittin some lyrics ta dem ta report ta HR, room fourteen forty-four.

 **DEAN  
** HRz on seven.

 **SAM  
** Exactly.

 **DEAN  
** Should we go check dis out?

 **SAM  
** Like right now?

 **DEAN  
** No. Fuck dat shit, itz gettin late. Yo ass is right.

 **SAM  
** I be dyin ta check dis up n' aint a thugged-out damn thang dat yo' ass can do.

 **DEAN  
** Right?

_INT. CORRIDOR – NIGHT_

A MAN up in tech support yellow comes through, lookin around. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude findz door number 1444 n' goes inside. It aint nuthin but a storeroom.

_INT. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. STOREROOM – NIGHT_

**MAN  
** Hello, biatch? Hello?

Da door slams shut behind tha MAN yo. Dude rattlez tha doorknob; itz locked. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude looks around, seein no indication of any suckas fo' realz. All tha monitors abruptly come on, showin only static yo. His breath is briefly visible. Everythang rattles.

_INT. CORRIDOR – NIGHT_

DEAN n' SAM is comin down tha corridor when they hear tha MAN yellin n' hurry ta room 1444. It aint nuthin but still locked.

_INT. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. STOREROOM – NIGHT_

SAM kicks tha door open.

 **DEAN  
** Whoa.

A shelf has fallen on tha MAN. DEAN n' SAM hurry over ta lift it off his muthafuckin ass. Da OLD MAN from tha bathroom appears behind DEAN n' flings his ass tha fuck into tha wall, then shoves SAM over n' shiznit yo. His handz spark lightning. DEAN gets up n' swings all up in tha OLD MAN wit a wrench. Da OLD MAN dissipates before his schmoooove ass can bust a nut on tha MAN. Da monitors shut off n' every last muthafuckin thang stops bobbin. DEAN n' SAM lift tha shelves so tha MAN can scoot up from underneath.

 **SAM  
** How'd you know how tha fuck ta do that?

 **DEAN  
** I have no idea.


	4. Act Three

_INT. DEAN'S APARTMENT – NIGHT_

DEAN dranks his Masta Cleanse.

 **DEAN  
** Holy crap, dude.

 **SAM  
** Yeah. I could bust a funky-ass brew.

Da room is now visible; itz all as upper-class expensive-lookin as DEANz bidnizz suits n' Prius.

 **DEAN  
** Oh, sorry, man. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I be on tha Cleanse. I gots rid of all tha carbs up in tha house.

 **SAM  
** Hey yo. How tha fuck tha hell did you know dat pimps is scared of wrenches?

DEAN handz SAM a wata bottle.

 **DEAN  
** Crazy, right, biatch? And sick thang kickin dat door like a muthafucka. That was straight-up Jet Li. What is you, like a funky-ass black belt or something?

 **SAM  
** No. I have no clue how tha fuck I did dis shit. It aint nuthin but like...we've done dis before.

 **DEAN  
** What do you mean, before, biatch? Like Shirley MacLaine before?

 **SAM  
** No. I—I just can't shake dis feelin like I—like I don't belong here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Yo ass know, biatch? Like I should do suttin' mo' than sit up in a cold-ass lil cubicle.

 **DEAN  
** I be thinkin most playas whoz ass work up in a cold-ass lil cubicle feel dat same way.

 **SAM  
** No. Well, look, itz mo' than dis shit. Like, I don't like mah thang. I don't like dis town. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I don't like mah clothes. I don't like mah own last name. I don't give a fuck how tha fuck else ta explain it, except that...it feels like I should be bustin suttin' else. Therez just suttin' up in mah blood. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Like I was destined fo' suttin' different. What bout yo slick ass, biatch? Yo ass eva feel dat way?

 **DEAN  
** I don't believe up in destiny. I do believe up in dealin wit whatz right up in front of us, though.

 **SAM  
** All right, so, what tha fuck do our phat asses do now?

 **DEAN  
** Us dudes do what tha fuck I do best, Sammy. Research.

 **SAM  
** Okay. Did yo dirty ass just call me Sammy?

 **DEAN  
** Did I?

 **SAM  
** I be thinkin you done did. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Yeah. Don't.

 **DEAN  
** Sorry.

DEAN sits at one laptop at a cold-ass lil corner desk n' SAM at another laptop at a table.

 **DEAN  
** Oh, jackpot.

 **SAM  
** What you got?

 **DEAN  
** I just found tha dopest joint eva n' shit. Real, actual pimp hunters.

SAM goes over ta see.

 **DEAN  
** These muthafuckas is smart-ass . Peep it out.

 **SAM  
** Instructionizzle vizzles.

DEAN is lookin all up in tha Ghostfacers joint yo. Dude pulls up a vizzle. ED n' HARRY of tha Ghostfacers is bustin white lab coats.

 **ED  
** We know why you watching.

 **HARRY  
** You've gots a problem.

 **ED  
** A pimp problem.

 **HARRY  
** A pimp-related problem fo' realz. A pimp—itz like a pimp-adjacent pr—itz like a problem that's—and tha pimp is—

 **ED  
** Whatever n' shit. You've come ta tha right place. Da only decent place, straight-up, cuz tha Ghostfacers know how tha fuck ta solve dat shit.

 **HARRY  
** Period.

 **ED  
** Watch n' learn.

 **HARRY  
** See, tha straight-up original gangsta step up in any supernatural fight:

 **ED n' HARRY  
** Figure up what tha fuck you up against.

DEAN looks over at SAM. On SAMz laptop be a article bout tha dirtnap of Sandoverz founder; it has a picture.

 **DEAN  
** Thatz his muthafuckin ass. Thatz tha pimp.

 **SAM  
** P. T. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Sandover n' shit. Died 1916. Devoted his wild lil' freakadelic game ta his work. No hoe, no kids.

Da article text visible next ta tha picture readz "Office 1444 was considered ta be tha centa of tha companyz operations, wit Sandover his dirty ass overseein all detailz of any construction project tha company undertook. / Considered ta be a gangbangin' finger-lickin' hard as fuck thug ta work for, P.T. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Sandover had a exceptionally high standard of quality, often marchin onto construction sites n' haltin all work until he personally inspected each aspect of tha structure fo' realz. Aimin fo' perfection is like why tha Sandover legacy is so impressive, dominatin tha industry wit tha scale n' scope of its projects."

 **SAM  
** Used ta say da thug was tha company, n' his straight-up blood pumped all up in tha building.

 **DEAN  
** Fuck dat shit, aiiight. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So slight workaholic. Maybe da perved-out muthafucka still here, you know, watchin over tha company, even cappin' fo' dat shit.

 **SAM  
** Plus, turns up dis aint tha last time playas started cappin' theyselves up in tha building. 1929.

 **DEAN  
** Yeah yo, but fuckin shitloadz of muthafuckas jumped off fuckin shitloadz of high rises dat year.

 **SAM  
** How tha fuck nuff g-units had seventeen suicides?

 **DEAN  
** Phew. Okay, so P. T. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Sandover, protector of tha company yo. His pimp wakes up n' becomes actizzle durin timez of grave economic distress.

 **SAM  
** Well, I mean, da most thugged-out shitty time we've peeped since tha Great Depression—

 **DEAN  
** Is now, nahmeean, biatch? Yeah, now sucks. My fuckin portfolioz up in tha sewer n' shit. I don't even wanna rap bout dat shit.

 **SAM  
** So Sandoverz helpin tha bottom line—

 **DEAN  
** By zappin some model hommies.

 **SAM  
** Yeah. I mean, Ian n' Paul. Dat shiznit was like tha pimpin' muthafucka turned dem tha fuck into different people.

 **DEAN  
** Perfect worker bees, exactly. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So devoted ta tha company dat they would commit hara-kiri if they failed dat shit.

 **SAM  
** One mo' bangin-ass fact. Da buildin wasn't always dat high. Used ta be fourteen floors fo' realz. And tha room where tha pimp attacked, fourteen forty-four, biatch? Back up in tha day, dat was tha oldschool manz crib.

DEAN n' SAM return ta watchin tha Ghostfacers vizzle.

 **HARRY  
** Once you've gots dat thang up in yo' sights—

 **ED n' HARRY  
** Yo ass bust a cap up in dat shit.

 **HARRY  
** Usin special pimp-huntin weapons.

 **ED  
** First, salt. It aint nuthin but like acid ta pimps.

 **HARRY  
** Burny acid.

 **ED  
** Not LSD.

 **HARRY  
** No. It aint nuthin but a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass shitty-ass trip fo' pimps. Next up, iron.

 **SAM  
** Thatz why tha wrench worked.

 **ED  
** Pure juice up in yo' hand.

 **HARRY  
** Dissipates pimps instantly.

 **ED  
** Next lil trick. We hustled dis from dem useless douchebags—

 **HARRY  
** That our crazy asses hate.

 **ED  
** Da Winchesters.

 **HARRY  
** Gun.

 **ED  
** Shotgun shell. Pack it up wit fresh rock salt.

 **HARRY  
** Straight-up effective.

 **ED  
** Straight-up effective.

 **HARRY  
** Winchestas still suck ass, though.

 **ED  
** Affirmative. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Suckage major.

DEAN packs two pokers up in a thugged-out duffel bag dat gotz nuff a salt shaker n' unidentifiable items.

 **DEAN  
** Where do we even git a gun?

 **SAM  
** Gun store?

 **DEAN  
** Isn't there like some kind of waitin period or something?

 **SAM  
** I be thinkin so.

 **DEAN  
** Well, how tha fuck up in tha hell—

 **SAM  
** I don't give a gangbangin' fuck. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Seems pretty impossible, straight-up.

 **DEAN  
** Right.

Back ta tha vizzle.

 **ED  
** Da aforementioned super-buggin Winchesta douchenozzlez also taught our asses dis one other thang. Yo ass gotta burn tha remains.

 **HARRY  
** Okay, dis next part gets a lil gross. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Sometimes you might gotta dig up tha body. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Sorry.

 **ED  
** It aint nuthin but illegal up in some states.

 **HARRY  
** All states.

 **ED  
** Possibly all states.

 **SAM  
** Sandover was cremated.

 **DEAN  
** What, biatch? So what tha fuck do our phat asses do now?

 **HARRY  
** Now, if tha deceased has been cremated—

 **ED  
** Don't panic.

 **HARRY  
** Don't panic.

 **ED  
** Just gotta look fo' some other remains.

 **HARRY  
** A afro up in a locket, maybe. Fingernails. Baby teeth.

 **ED  
** Milk teeth.

 **HARRY  
** Genetic material. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Yo ass know what tha fuck we poppin' off about.

 **ED  
** Go find dat shit.

 **HARRY  
** Fight well, lil' lions.

 **ED  
** Godspeed.

_INT. ELEVATOR – NIGHT_

SAM n' DEAN enta tha elevator.

 **DEAN  
** Set yo' cell beeper ta struttie-talkie up in case we git separated.

DEAN has his beeper out; SAM gets his.

 **SAM  
** How tha fuck tha hell is we gonna find some ancient speck of DNA up in a skyscraper?

 **DEAN  
** Well, dat creepy storeroom used ta be Sandoverz office, right?

DEAN presses button 14.

_INT. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. STOREROOM – NIGHT_

DEAN n' SAM look all up in tha thangs stored up in 1444. DEAN goes behind some shelves while SAM riflez all up in tha desk easily visible from tha door.

 **GUARD  
** What tha hell is you bustin here?

SAM startles. DEAN ducks outta sight.

 **SAM  
** Nothing. I just—

 **GUARD  
** Come wit mah dirty ass.

Da GUARD grabs SAMz arm n' shuts tha door behind dem wild-ass muthafuckas.

 **SAM  
** Man, listen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Look. It aint nuthin but all gravy. I—I work here.

 **GUARD  
** Whatever n' shit. Tell it ta tha cops.

Da GUARD takes SAM down tha corridor n' tha fuck into tha elevator, which descendz nuff muthafuckin floors. Da current-weather screen inside tha elevator goes ta static, n' both menz breath is briefly visible. Da elevator screeches ta a halt. Da GUARD uses his wild lil' fuckin elevator key ta open tha inner doors, then pries open tha outa doors; they stuck between two floors.

 **GUARD  
** Well, come on.

Somethang make a ominous sound.

 **SAM  
** What?

 **GUARD  
** Last time dis happened, it took dem two minutes ta git here.

 **SAM  
** Letz just wait.

Da GUARD crawls out, nearly kickin SAM up in tha face.

_INT. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. STOREROOM – NIGHT_

DEAN continues ta search all up in drawers yo. Dude findz a gangbangin' framed picture of a Sandover bridge.

_INT. ELEVATOR – NIGHT_

Da GUARD is outta tha elevator n' turns back fo' SAM.

 **SAM  
** Seriously, I be bout ta wait.

Da GUARD leans back tha fuck into tha elevator.

 **GUARD  
** Look, I aint gots tha rest of mah game.

Da elevator jerks downward abruptly, decapitatin tha GUARD. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. SAMz grill n' hoodie is covered up in blood spray.

 **DEAN over tha phone  
** Hey. Yo ass aiiight?

SAM slowly reaches fo' tha phone.

 **SAM  
** Call you back.

 

 


	5. Act Four

_INT. CUBICLE FARM – NIGHT_

SAM strutts between tha cubicles, poppin' off tha fuck into his thugged-out lil' phone. Dat punk cleanin tha blood off his wild lil' grill wit a towel.

 **SAM  
** Dean, you there?

 **DEAN  
** Yeah, listen, I be thinkin I gots dat shit. Hook up me on twenty-two.

 **SAM  
** Okay, yeah. Just, uh, take tha stairs.

_INT. LOBBY – NIGHT_

DEAN is lookin all up in tha Sandover history display when SAM comes in.

 **DEAN  
** Whoa. Thatz a shitload of blood.

 **SAM  
** Yeah, I know.

 **DEAN  
** Right. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So, uh, up in there.

DEAN points ta a glass case containin a pair of gloves.

 **SAM  
** P. T. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Sandoverz gloves.

 **DEAN  
** Yeah, how tha fuck much you wanna bet there be a a lil smidge of DNA up in there, biatch? Yo ass know, like a gangbangin' fingernail clippin or a afro or two, biatch? Something.

 **SAM  
** So you ready?

 **DEAN  
** I have no idea.

 **SAM  
** Me neither.

SAM n' DEAN both take a poker n' SAM takes a cold-ass lil container of salt.

 **SAM  
** Go fo' dat shit.

 **DEAN  
** Right.

DEAN smashes tha glass. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. SAMz breath is briefly visible. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. SANDOVER appears behind DEAN n' flings his ass tha fuck into tha wall, then SAM yo. His handz spark as he approaches SAM, whoz ass grabs tha salt n' flings some all up in his muthafuckin ass. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. SANDOVER dissipates. DEAN gets up.

 **DEAN  
** Oh. Nice.

SANDOVER appears behind DEAN.

 **SAM  
** Dean.

SAM throws DEAN tha poker n' shit. DEAN turns n' swings it all up in SANDOVER, whoz ass dissipates again.

 **SAM  
** Sick catch.

 **DEAN  
** Right?

SAM gets up n' goes over ta pick up tha other poker n' shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. SANDOVER appears between SAM n' DEAN, whoz ass simultaneously hit his ass wit pokers; da ruffneck dissipates yo. Dude appears behind DEAN, whoz ass turns round ta git him, then behind SAM, whoz ass do tha same, then between them, n' throws first SAM, then DEAN tha fuck into opposite walls yo. His handz spark n' he reaches fo' DEAN. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. SAM sees tha gloves n' grabs dem n' his fuckin lighter n' shit. Da gloves catch fire n' so do SANDOVER, whoz ass burns tha fuck into nothing. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. SAM drops tha burnin gloves.

 **SAM  
** That was amazing.

 **DEAN  
** Right, biatch? Right?

_INT. DEAN'S OFFICE – NIGHT_

DEAN pulls a gangbangin' first-aid kit outta his fuckin lil' desk.

 **DEAN  
** Man, I gotta rap , I've never had so much funk up in mah game.

 **SAM  
** Me neither.

 **DEAN  
** Was a hell of a workout too, wasn't it?

 **SAM  
** We should keep bustin this.

 **DEAN  
** I know.

DEAN looks all up in tha kit n' comes up wit two gauze pads(?) yo. Dude gives one ta SAM.

 **SAM  
** I mean dat shit. There gotta be other pimps up there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. We could help a shitload of people.

 **DEAN  
** Right, we'd be like tha Ghostfacers.

 **SAM  
** Fuck dat shit, straight-up. I mean, fo' real.

 **DEAN  
** What, biatch? Like, quit our thangs n' hit tha road?

 **SAM  
** Exactly.

 **DEAN  
** How tha fuck would our slick asses live?

 **SAM  
** Uh...

 **DEAN  
** Yo ass gotta be kiddin mah dirty ass yo. How tha fuck would we git by, biatch? With jacked credit cards, biatch? Huh, biatch? Eatin diner chicken drenched up in saturated fats, biatch? Sharin a cold-ass lil crap motel room every last muthafuckin night?

 **SAM  
** Thatz all just details.

 **DEAN  
** Details is every last muthafuckin thang. Yo ass don't wanna go fightin pimps without any game insurance.

 **SAM  
** All right. Um. Confession.

 **DEAN  
** What?

 **SAM  
** Remember dem trips I holla'd at you bout wit tha pimps?

 **DEAN  
** Yeah?

 **SAM  
** I was fightin dem wild-ass muthafuckas.

 **DEAN  
** Okay.

 **SAM  
** With you, biatch. Us thugs was these, like, hunters, n' we was playas. Mo' like brothers, straight-up. I mean, what tha fuck if thatz whoz ass we straight-up are, biatch? I mean, you saw our asses back there, hustlin together n' shit. Da pimp was scramblin peoplez domes. What if it scrambled ours?

 **DEAN  
** Thatz insane.

 **SAM  
** Is it, biatch? Think bout it fo' just one second. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! What if we be thinkin dis is our game yo, but itz not?

 **DEAN  
** Yo, dude, tha pimp is dead n' we still standing. I mean, I be sorry yo, but—

 **SAM  
** Look, all I know is dis aint whoz ass we supposed ta be.

 **DEAN  
** No. I be Dean Smizzle, aiiight, biatch? Director of Salez n' Marketing. I went ta Stanford. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! My fuckin fatherz name is Bob, mah motherz name is Ellen, n' mah sisterz name is Jo.

 **SAM  
** When was tha last time you talked ta them, biatch? To any of them?

 **DEAN  
** Okay, you upset. Yo ass is upset, you confused—

 **SAM  
** Yeah, 'cause I only moved here 'cause I just broke up wit mah fiancée, Madison. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. But I called her number n' I gots a thugged-out damn animal hospitizzle.

 **DEAN  
** Okay. What is you saying, biatch? Is you tryin ta say dat mah crew aint real, biatch? Huh, biatch? That we've been injected wit fake memories, biatch? Come on.

 **SAM  
** All I know is, I gots dis feelin up in mah gut fo' realz. And I know—I know dat deep down, you gotta be feelin it like a muthafucka. We supposed ta be suttin' else. Yo ass aint just some corporate douchebag. This aint you, biatch. I know you, biatch.

 **DEAN  
** Know me son, biatch? Yo ass don't give a fuck me, pal. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Yo ass should go.

SAM leaves.

 


	6. Act Five

_INT. CUBICLE FARM – DAY_

A printa whirs n' spits up a paper n' shiznit fo' realz. A fax machine whirs n' sucks up in papers fo' realz. An automatic pencil sharpener whirs. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. SAM is up in his cubicle fillin up a gangbangin' form on a cold-ass lil clipboard. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da beeper rings. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. SAM stares at it yo. Dude takes off his headset, picks up tha poker his thugged-out lil' punk-ass brought wit him, gets up, n' beats tha beeper ta dirtnap. Everyone stares.

 **SAM  
** I quit.

_INT. DEAN'S OFFICE – DAY_

DEAN is typin at his computer n' shiznit fo' realz. ADLER knocks all up in tha door.

 **ADLER  
** Got a minute?

 **DEAN  
** Sure, of course.

ADLER comes up in n' shuts tha door.

 **ADLER  
** How tha fuck is you feeling, Dean?

 **DEAN  
** Uh, pimped out.

 **ADLER  
** Yo ass look a lil tired. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Been hustlin hard, I gather.

 **DEAN  
** Yeah.

 **ADLER  
** Ah, don't be modest. I hear every last muthafuckin thang fo' realz. And I be pleased wit what tha fuck I be hearing.

ADLER sits down up in front of DEANz desk.

 **ADLER  
** Thatz why itz blingin ta me dat you horny.

ADLER pulls up a pen, grabs a piece of notepaper, n' writes down a gangbangin' five-digit number.

 **ADLER  
** Howz dat fo' a funky-ass bonus?

DEAN looks all up in tha paper.

 **DEAN  
** Thatz straight-up generous.

 **ADLER  
** Purely selfish. Wanna make shizzle you not goin anywhere.

 **DEAN  
** Wow. Is you sure?

 **ADLER  
** Positive. Yo ass is Sandover material, son. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Real go-getter n' shit. Carvin yo' own way.

 **DEAN  
** Well, props. I try.

 **ADLER  
** I peep big-ass thangs up in yo' future. Maybe even ballin' VP, Eastside Great Lakes Division. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Don't git me wrong, you gonna gotta work fo' dat shit. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Seven minutes a week, lunch at yo' desk yo, but up in eight ta ten short years, dat could be you, biatch.

DEAN takes off his headset.

 **DEAN  
** Uh, well, fuck you, biatch. Nuff props, sir. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. It's, um...but...

DEAN passes tha paper back.

 **DEAN  
** I be givin mah notice.

 **ADLER  
** This be a joke. Yo ass is kiddin me, right?

 **DEAN  
** No. I've—I recently—uh, straight-up recently realized dat I have some other work I gotta do. It's, uh, straight-up blingin ta mah dirty ass.

 **ADLER  
** Other work, biatch? Another company?

 **DEAN  
** Fuck dat shit, I—itz hard ta explain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Um. It aint nuthin but just dat this—this is—itz just—itz not whoz ass I be supposed ta be.

ADLER grins.

 **DEAN  
** What?

 **ADLER  
** Dean, Dean, Dean. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Finally.

ADLER standz up n' presses two fingers ta DEANz forehead. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Everythang goes from saturated color ta dim. DEAN looks round all up in tha crib n' his dirty ass.

 **DEAN  
** What tha hell, biatch? Why is I bustin a tie, biatch? My fuckin God, is I hungry.

ADLER laughs.

 **ADLER  
** Welcome back.

DEAN standz up.

 **DEAN  
** Wait. Did I—did I just git touched by—yo ass be a angel, aren't yo slick ass?

 **ADLER  
** I be Zachariah.

 **DEAN  
** Oh, pimped out. Thatz all I need be another one of y'all muthafuckas.

 **ZACHARIAH  
** I be hardly another one, Dean. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I be Castielz superior. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Believe me, I had no interest up in poppin down here tha fuck into one of these smelly thangs.

ZACHARIAH indicates his body.

 **ZACHARIAH  
** But afta tha fucked up thang wit Uriel, I felt it necessary ta pay a visit. Git mah ducks up in a row.

 **DEAN  
** I aint one of yo' ducks.

 **ZACHARIAH  
** Startin wit yo' attitude.

 **DEAN  
** Oh, so, what, biatch? This was all some sort of a lesson, biatch? Is dat what tha fuck you spittin some lyrics ta me son, biatch? Wow. Straight-up creative.

 **ZACHARIAH  
** Yo ass should peep mah decoupage.

 **DEAN  
** Gross. No fuck you, biatch. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So, what, biatch? I be just hallucinatin all this, biatch? Is dat it?

 **ZACHARIAH  
** Not at all. Real place, real hustlin. Just plunked you up in tha middle without tha benefit of yo' memories.

 **DEAN  
** Just ta shake thangs up, biatch? Hm, biatch? So you muthafuckas can have funk watchin our asses run round like ass clowns up in monkey suits?

 **ZACHARIAH  
** To prove ta you dat tha path you on is truly up in yo' blood. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Yo ass be a hustla n' shit. Not cuz yo' daddy made you, not cuz Dogg called you back from hell yo, but cuz it is what tha fuck yo ass is fo' realz. And you ludd dat shit. You'll find yo' way ta it up in tha dark every last muthafuckin single time n' you miserable without dat shit. Dean, letz be real here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Yo ass is phat at all dis bullshit. You'll be successful naaahhmean, biatch? Yo ass will stop dat shit.

 **DEAN  
** Quit what, biatch? Da apocalypse, huh, biatch? Lucifer, biatch? What, biatch? Be specific, man.

 **ZACHARIAH  
** You'll do every last muthafuckin thang you destined ta do fo' realz. All of dat shit. But I know, I know. Yo ass aint phat enough cause I gots dem finger-lickin' chickens wit tha siz-auce. Yo ass is trippin like a muthafucka. Yo ass gots daddy issues. Yo ass can't do dat shit. Right?

 **DEAN  
** Angel or not, I'ma stab you up in yo' face.

 **ZACHARIAH  
** All I be sayin is itz how tha fuck you peep dat shit. Most folks live n' take a thugged-out dirtnap without movin anythang mo' than tha dirt it takes ta bury dem wild-ass muthafuckas. Yo ass git ta chizzle thangs.

DEAN turns away.

 **ZACHARIAH  
** Save people, maybe even tha ghetto. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! All tha while you drive a cold-ass lil funky-ass hoopty n' fornicate wit dem hoes. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. This aint a cold-ass lil curse. It aint nuthin but a gift. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So fo' Godz sakes, Dean, quit whinin bout dat shit. Look around. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! There is nuff fates worse than yours. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So is you wit me son, biatch? Yo ass wanna go steam yo ass another latte, biatch? Or is you locked n loaded ta stand up n' be whoz ass you straight-up are?

 


End file.
